Meanwhile Gardens (9 page)

“I was just talking about you,” she smiled at Jake to let him know everything was all right. “This is Jake, I’m Rion and you are – ?”

“Ollie. Ollie Michaelson.”

Rion peered into the supermarket carrier. “Is there enough for three?”

As the sun went down Jake built and lit a fire with the speed and ease of someone who had done it many times before.

“Lucky I bought a couple extra eh?” Jake took several potatoes from the carrier. He wrapped them in foil before placing them away from the main flame but still in the heat of the fire.

“You live near here don’t you?” Ollie asked.

Jake wondered how much Rion had told him. “Yes,” he replied truthfully. Ollie didn’t have to know how near.

“I thought I’d seen you before.” Through the woven mesh of branches Ollie could see the sun’s dying rays reflected in the canal. “You’d never know this place existed from the other side, there just doesn’t look to be enough room.”

Jake pulled out a small bottle of Appleton’s rum and two matchstick-sized joints from his army trousers.

“Are they from Marks?” Rion asked knowingly.

Ollie looked over at the tiny cigarettes, their ends rolled into twists. “And Spencers?” he asked amazed. “Which branch do you go to?”

Jake grinned, “Mr Marks the bandleader. He’s buried –”

“He’s dead?”

Jake nodded, “One of his supporters leaves an offering every now and then.” He took a swig from the rum before offering it to Ollie.

Feeling curiously like an egyptologist in the Valley of the Kings Ollie looked at the bottle, “This isn’t graverobbing is it?” Deciding it wasn’t he raised the bottle in a toast to the departed steelband leader, “ To Marks!” He took a gulp, nearly choking as the l50 proof Jamaican rum burned his lungs and throat. A shudder started in his shoulders worked its way down his spine through his groin and all the way to his toes that curled involuntarily.

With eyes watering he offered the bottle to Rion. “How old are you?” he gasped.

Rion took the bottle. “Old enough,” without taking a sip she passed the rum to Jake, “and wise enough.”

Another rum judder sent heat coursing through Ollie’s body. He waited for the aftershock to subside before asking Jake, “Are there any other – er – things people leave?”

“Lots of flowers of course, some Cuban food – ”

“Cuban – ?”

“Yup, food, it’s delicious,” added Rion.

“Letters and mawkish poems – ”

“You read them?” Rion asked Jake

“If they’re not sealed sure, why not? Don’t you ever read other people’s postcards?”

Ollie and Rion spoke at the same time.

“Yes!” Ollie said.

“No!” Rion answered.

Not that she had the chance, Rion thought. No one in her family ever got sent any cards. The only card she had ever received was from Tanya when she went to Greece two summers ago and everybody had read that before it got to her.

Ollie was still curious to find out about the young girl. “Rion was just going to tell me her story when you arrived.” He looked over at the young girl, “Could we continue?”

“How much time do you have?”

Ollie opened his hands palm up as he looked at Jake, “I’m not going anywhere, are you?”

“Nope.”

Although slightly hurt that Rion felt she could open up to Ollie when she had only just met him when he, Jake, had done so much to earn her trust, Jake hid his feelings. He picked up one of the small joints, lit it and gestured for Rion to go ahead.

As Rion vanished behind the pink blanket Jake passed the joint to Ollie who took three quick puffs before handing it back.

“To Marks,” Ollie toasted again, struggling not to cough. Within seconds the small spliff had sizzled to an end, the sinsemilla mingling with the rum to produce a most enjoyable buzz. Ollie and Jake stretched out in the fireglow and waited for Rion to return.

They didn’t have to wait long. When Rion returned she had with her the cutting of Blondin crossing Niagara. She knelt on the ground beside the fire and took a deep breath.

Rion told her story quickly and simply. She looked at the fire, occasionally glanced at the picture of Blondin in her hand, but steadfastly avoided Jake and Ollie’s eyes.

“I’m the youngest, by several years, of four girls. My mum says my dad always took a lot of stick from his mates about his three girls and no boys. They somehow questioned his masculinity at not producing any sons so I was sort of his last ditch attempt at proving himself.”

Ollie nodded. He understood the fragile male psyche.

“Anyway when I came along my dad took even more stick.”

“Producing three girls might be regarded as foolishness but four looks like carelessness?” Ollie enquired.

Rion smiled but still refused to meet their eyes. “Something like that,” she paused for a moment to gather her thoughts. “So growing up I was a constant reminder to him of his failure. He always went on about wanting a ‘pride and joy’ – that’s what he called his longed for son – and I most certainly wasn’t that – ”

Jake interrupted, “In his eyes.”

“Sorry?”

“You might not have been
his
pride and joy – ”

“I’m no-one’s pride and joy,” Rion shook her head vehemently. “No-one’s. Ever since I can remember my dad picked on me and when my sisters saw it was alright to pick on me, in fact that my dad seemed to encourage it, well there was no stopping them. They were like a pack together and I was outside it.”

Ollie and Jake listened in silence, the Jamaican spliff heightening their empathy with Rion. Then Ollie asked something Jake had wanted to ask but hadn’t dared.

“Is that why you have cigarette burns on your arms?” Rion instinctively hugged herself as if to hide the telltale marks. Then she relaxed, she wasn’t going to hide them any longer.

Rolling back the sleeves and collar of her fleece Rion displayed the marks of her abuse. Even in the firelight the twin scorched circles of skin, scabby and painful, were clearly visible on the soft white underbelly of each wrist. Further up her arm and around her neck were mottled splotches of bruising.

Ollie and Jake winced audibly.

“They don’t hurt. At least not any more.”

“How can people do that?” Ollie asked in horror.

“Without them I wouldn’t be here, so in some strange way– ” Rion lightly circled the burns with her finger, “I’m quite proud of them. They’re what got me out of there.” Rion pulled her sleeves down and her collar up. “As with anything else you get used to it.” The girl seemed unfazed by the burns and the bruising. “I knew I’d get out sometime and look – ” she smiled at them both, “ – here I am.”

Jake whistled between his teeth. “How did you survive?”

“By dreaming, by spending every second I could in Tanya’s salon – and if I wasn’t there I was in the library,
anywhere apart from home,” Rion explained. “Tanya’s my friend, my only friend. I used to clean up, help with the shampooing, coffees and the like. Tanya used to give me all the magazines, ‘Vogue, Tatler, Glamourista, ’ – you know, all of those – in which I used to escape.”

“So that’s how you know about Hitherto Williams?” asked Jake.

“And ‘Ghost’, ‘Browns’ , ‘Giles Deacon’, ‘Killer’, ‘John Galliano’ ‘Henry Holland’ ‘Preen.…’ Rion continued to reel off the names of designers and exclusive boutiques until Ollie held up his hand to stop her.

“But what are you going to do here in London?”

Rion knew she hadn’t come to London to camp out in a cemetery, no matter how many worthy, inspirational people were buried there and no matter how kind and attractive Jake was, but if she told them – would they laugh?

“Well,” Rion began before looking closely at the two young men sitting opposite her around the fire. “This is going to sound stupid but,” she looked at the picture of Blondin before saying quickly, “I want to do something in fashion, hopefully work in a great shop, learn about cut and fabrics and people – how it all works.” The words came out in a jumble. Rion quickly put some kindling on the fire. She watched intensely as the flames took hold, waiting to hear Ollie and Jake’s derisive laughter which never came.

“And you’ll be ok till then? You have money?” The September evening had turned cold. Ollie shivered and moved closer to the fire, silently cursing himself for not wearing his tracksuit bottoms.

“Yes, I mean no, I mean yes I’ll be ok, living here is nothing if not cheap and Jake’s a huge help.” She smiled shyly at Jake who grinned back. “Tanya’s been looking after my savings, she’s going to send them down.”

Ollie interrupted, “To where? She can’t exactly send them here can she?”

“No, but – ”

“Have you family in London?”

Rion shook her head.

“Friends?”

Rion looked at the ground, “Apart from you two, no,” she said softly.

“Well if you trust me you can tell Tanya to send them to: 3 Meanwhile Gardens Mews, W10.” In case Rion hadn’t understood Ollie added helpfully, “That’s where I live.”

Rion looked over to Jake who nodded his agreement.

“One second,” Rion again drew back the pink blanket. She descended into the candlelit space, returning with a pad of notepaper, a pencil and the down sleeping bag which she put around Ollie’s legs.

Rion quickly wrote down his address while she still remembered, “Ollie Michaelson, 3 Meanwhile Gardens Mews W10?”

Ollie nodded and wrapped the sleeping bag around him, “Thanks. You know,” he began to smile, “my friend Nicky takes pictures for Glamourista.”

“Does she?” Rion flinched. This was all too much. “Would you..? could I?.… will...” she stammered, feeling her chest freeze up. Luckily Ollie knew what she wanted to say.

“I can’t promise anything but she meets alot of people, maybe one of them is looking for someone.”

Rion began to tremble slightly. She offered up a quick prayer of thanks. “So the streets of London are paved with gold?”

Ollie again held up his hand, “No promises but give me your number –” Ollie fumbled in the pocket of his shorts, pulled out a super-thin phone and nodded at Rion, “You’ve got a phone don’t you?”

The young girl slumped slightly, thinking of the old Nokia Tanya had given her – and her sisters’ delight at its destruction. “Not any more,” she said sadly.

“I might have an old one at home, it won’t have a camera or – ”

“That’s ok,” Rion said quickly.

“ – but we’ll find one for you anyway.”

With the pick from his Swiss Army knife Jake pierced the potatoes and smiled in satisfaction. He removed two packets of the supermarket’s
beef bourguignon
from the carrier, turned the contents into a battered saucepan which he expertly placed over the fire. With Ollie’s hunger already heightened by the marijuana the sizzling smell of stew set his tastebuds racing.

“Hungry?” Jake asked.

Ollie nodded perhaps a touch too eagerly. “Starving,” he confirmed.

“Well, house rules are that you sing for your supper. I told my story last night. You’ve just heard Rion’s, when we finish we expect to hear yours.”

After the trio had wolfed down the stew, the mini pots of fromage frais were practically swallowed whole. Within seconds Jake and Rion looked at Ollie who knew his time had come.

Ollie reached for the bottle of rum, took another quick swig and waited for his juddering insides to calm down. “Well,” he coughed lightly to clear his throat. “I – ” Where to begin he wondered, his memory annoyingly clear even after the spliff and industrial strength rum.

With the firelight glowing on the faces in front of him Ollie began his story. The only reason he mentioned his public schooling on a vast Palladian estate near Buckingham
was because it was there he met James. Ollie lightly touched on his family life, how his parents weren’t suited and how he had been mainly brought up by his grandmother in London.

“Is she still alive?” asked Rion.

Ollie nodded, “Oh yes.”

“And living in London?”

“Some of the time. She’s taken to cruising like a,” Ollie cleared his throat, “duck to water but if she’s in town Gran can be found anywhere there’s a Dior make-up counter.”

“And your parents?”

“My father remarried when I was four and lives in the States. There’s little contact or love there,” Ollie said matter-of-factly. “My mother works for UNICEF. I see her occasionally for a couple of minutes on tv whenever there’s a crisis.” He raised his hands palms up, “That’s that side of things.”

Rion and Jake listened enthralled as Ollie told them of his travels with James after leaving school – trekking around India before wandering though Burma, down into Thailand, to Sumatra, Java, Bali and finally to Australia.

“After coming back to England we lived together at James’ place in Holland Park, but soon realised we fancied other people: James – women, me – men.”

“And you were ok with that?” Jake poked the dying fire, which obligingly flared into life.

Ollie took a deep breath – had he been ok with it? “Sure. There’s often more love in friendship than friendship in love.”

Jake stoked the flames with some well-placed branches. “And then what?”

Ollie looked at the fire for a while, mesmerised by the embers glowing a blistering red. “I went to Cornwall to study carpentry. When I returned I shared a house – not lived with – James but it was too complicated. I moved out and into
Meanwhile Gardens Mews where I’ve been for the past five years.”

“And James?”

Ollie didn’t answer the question immediately.

“You know even though we weren’t living together or anything like that we were still very protective of each other. There were many times when we used to sleep in the same bed – nothing else mind – just because to wake up to a loved one’s face is one of the joys of the world, no?”

Rion listened agog. Is this what people did? It all sounded so civilised, so grown-up.

“Anyway – ”

Ollie looked them level in the eye. He quickly decided it would be too much of a downer to tell them James had been killed in a car crash not five weeks before, the front seat passenger in a car driven by StJohn StJohn, a complete wanker who was way over the limit and who, in the manner of things, escaped without a scratch.